Trick
by Samantha Bridges
Summary: In keeping with tradition, what would any Happy, or Harpy, Halloween be without a little trick? Reviews, as always, would be lovely.


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What Happy or Harpy Halloween would be complete without a little horror tale? Trick or treat, dear ones. ;)

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Trick

It is stereotypical the way the mist moves over the ground, streaming off the adjacent lake and prowling eerily through the mossy crumbling ruins of the old church graveyard. Not a cemetery, since that term would not properly fit the scene we have here. The church burned under mysterious circumstances many years back, and was rebuilt once, only to burn again.

Local legend says its haunted.

There is no sound around these charred remains. Not a peep from a frog sitting on the lake, not a chirp from one of the last crickets trying to prolong summer's song, only silence. A wind stirs the weeping willows that hang over the graveyard and brush their faded fingers into the lake. Eerie would be quite the apt description of the night here. And its quite a special night indeed.

Halloween.

The last chance for fun.

A carful of teenagers crests the ridge just this side of the bridge, slowing as they approach the burnt remains. Coming to a stop on the side of the road, the engine ticking as it is cut. The silence is disturbed for but a moment, then returns to its previous state.

Voices then, whispers and giggles. A car door opens and feet crunch on the gravel that edges the road here. More car doors opening, more feet in the gravel. The whispers and giggles have strengthened, growing into normal tones and laughter. One voice warns the others to be careful of the barb wire that separates the sacred ground from the road. One by one, in the cloud dimmed light of the crescent moon, the teenagers step over the fence into waist high weeds. The footsteps are muffled on the wet ground, and there is a whisper as grasses brush against their jackets and jeans.

They come to a stop about thirty feet from the empty ruins, looking at the remnants of walls and pews in the night. One could swear there was still a faint smoky smell to the place, as if the fire had only died out a little while before. Light suddenly illuminates the church, bringing out shadows in sharp detail and revealing the blackened wood.

"Come on." says the same one who warned of the barb wire. Hesitantly, the threesome approaches the church. 

"Derrick says this place is haunted." comes female voice, muted as she walks through the grass.

"Derrick's chickenshit, that's why he ain't here."

"But Rich..."

'It ain't haunted, Jenny." A different male voice, this one a little less rough, there's a rustle of cloth against cloth as the second boy puts his arm around Jenny's shoulders. "That's just a story our parents tell us cause that's what our grandparents told them."

They are at the spot where the great carved doors once stood, looking in on the length of the church. Hushed breathing as they stare.

Rich is grinning with the flashlight beam aimed over his face like a kid telling a tale around a campfire. Shadows exaggerate across his features and he grins wickedly. "Let's go inside, and then we'll go check out the graves."

The flashlight's beam plays across the former interior, across the remains of pews, the fallen beams that lay across them. Here and there is a glitter of color in the black and grey, portions of the stained glass windows. Oddly, not a single living thing stands in this place with the exception of the three teenagers.

"Derrick said that this place was burned down by the devil, that they had built it on a place sacred to him."

"Shhh." Jenny is cautioned.

Rich again, his voice rough, almost angry. "Do you believe everything Derrick tells you?"

"Its true! And it's not just Derrick! Aaron's mom said..."

A nervous laugh from the boy escorting Jenny. "Jen, my mom was joking. Really, it's just a tale they tell the kids to scare them."

Silence for a few moments as they proceed up the aisle, moving for the altar. 

"But what about the guy that was killed out here last year?"

"He was drunk and drove into a tree. You saw the photos in the paper, Jen." Rich replies, flashing his beam across the ground in front of him. 

"But..."

Rich whirls on her, flashlight pointing accusingly at her. "Look. You shouldn't have agreed to come is you're going to whine. Go back to the car and wait if you're going to be scared."

"I'm not scared." she protests, a slight tinge of almost hysteria creeping into her voice. "Besides, all you said was that we were going to come out here sometime, not specifically on Halloween."

"All the better. A graveyard on Halloween at midnight. What could be more perfect, huh Aaron?"

"Sure." Aaron grunted, not wanting to let on that he shared some of Jenny's fear. That car wreck last year had been pretty weird, but it was just coincidence that it had happened here. Probably came over that ridge too fast for the turn and- wham! He shrugged and guided Jenny forward, toward the ashes of the altar.

Rich stood there for a few moments, looking at the ashes, then he took a step forward, and walked through them, out into the graveyard.

"Rich!" both Jenny and Aaron yelled.

He turned back to them. "What? They're just ashes. Did you expect me to turn around and walk all the way back out and around?"

Jenny chewed on her lip and looked back to where they had come. Aaron was putting pressure on her shoulder.

"Just go, Jen."

She felt so cold as she walked through the ashes, with the fog swirling up around her ankles. 

Cold.

Like death.

She looked up, not realizing that she had come to a stop outside the foundation and had looked down at her feet. Aaron had stepped past her and was winding his way past a broken headstone. She looked for Rich and the slightly reassuring beam of the flashlight. It was gone.

"Where's Rich?"

"What?" asked Aaron, turning around to look at her, balancing with one hand against a headstone.

"Rich. Where's Rich?"

Aaron began to shake his head but before he could reply something happened. There was a puff of air against Jenny's ear. Hands closed around her shoulders. 

"boo."

Jenny's scream shattered the night, and a crow took wing from one of the willows. Jenny jumped away from the hands and whirled to face their owner. Rich was cackling madly.

"That's not funny!" she fairly well screamed at him.

"You're as chickenshit as Derrick." he replied. 

Jenny glared at him through tears as she clenched her hands into fists, trying to contain her sobs and fight the hiccups that interrupted her breaths. Rich said nothing, returned her stare, and watched as she whirled and stalked back to the car. Aaron took off after her, stepping past a fallen headstone as he leveled a glare on Rich.

"That really wasn't funny, Rich."

"Screw you." Rich replied and followed the other two back to his car. As he was walking away, he paused and looked back at the church. There was something glittering, swaying beneath one of the timbers. A nugget of desire formed in Rich's mind and he decided to come back after he got rid of the chickenshits. He didn't see the eyes that followed him from the dark shadows of the graveyard as he crossed back to the road. There was a rustle of a breeze as the car pulled back onto the road, spraying a fan of gravel in the air. Something emerged from the shadows and smiled, small white teeth in the limited moonlight.

*****

There is a roar as a pair of headlights tops the ridge and rolls down to the fan of gravel that it left almost an hour ago. He had made no apologies to Jenny, even though Aaron had told him to. He didn't need to make apologies to a scared little girl, especially one that had cried after a simple 'boo.' He dropped the gearshift into park and cut the engine, setting the parking brake as he did so. The car door opens and the cool night swarms into the interior of the car. Rich makes a grab for the letterman jacket that lays on the backseat. He runs his fingers across the embroidery spelling out his name before he shrugs it on and slams the car door. His feet crunch in the gravel once more and he ducks through the space between the barb wire rows of the fence. Grass brushes against his jeans and his jacket, leaving wet trails.

Fog still floats through the church as he approaches and pulls the flashlight from his pocket. Playing the beam across the collapse he seeks the object that had caught his attention. A few moments, and he sees the glint and grins tightly. Still there. He doesn't bother with going to the former doors this time, but walks past the remnant of the near wall. He picks his way through the pews and rewards himself with charcoal on his hands. He brushes them against his jeans, adding long black marks to the wet trails. He crosses the aisle and is beneath the beam from which the object swings. It is just out of reach and he sets the flashlight down on the ground before climbing up on an unsteady pile of wood and jumping for it. His hand snatches it from the air in which it hangs and there is a slight ting as the chin from whick it dangles breaks. 

HE falls back onto the ground hard, knocking his breath from him. He gropes fro the flashlight and rises, light in one hand, prize in the other. He opens his hand and shines the beam onto it. In his palm rests a silver chain and a little pendant. Peering closer he sees that the pendant is a little whit cloisonné lamb. Rich is not impressed and closes his fist back around the lamb. He turns, looking for anything else and the flashlight glints off the lake. An idea forms and he once again crosses through the ashes of the altar and then through the graveyard. He stumbles once or twice as he picks his way through the broken headstones, but finally reaches the edge of the lake. Little wavelets lap at the shore and mist drifts around his tennis shoes. 

Opening his fist again he takes a look at the little lamb again, and the silver chain pooled around it. he switches hands then, transferring the lamb and chain to the hand that held his flashlight. He takes a stance like the one when he is on the mound during the baseball games. With exaggerated slowness he winds up, then lets the lamb fly from his hand. It blinks once in the beam of the flashlight, the chain separating from the pendant and falling into the lake first, followed a moment later with a tiny splash from the lamb. Rich smiles and pumps his fists into the air, flashlight beam playing across the weeping willow above him. Even in the still silence he doesn't hear the footsteps approach behind him.

"What did you do, boy?" comes a quiet voice from behind him. Rich whirls around, flashlight coming up to bear on the strangers face.

"That was mine."

Rich sees only an old man, nothing that could harm him. Besides, the guy was probably half-loopy anyway, with the strange colored eyes. What were they, maroon? Self assured Rich cocks his head at the man, looks him in the eye.

"Whatcha gonna do about it, old man?"

The man doesn't reply for a moment, only smiles thinly at the boy. Rich is too busy staring him down to notice the hand flicking out with the blade. He knows it then, as it sinks into his belly.

"Hey!" He pulls back at the same time the old man does, dropping the flashlight and grabbing the rent in his abdomen. He backs to the lake, falling to his knees in the water. Blood turns the water surrounding him red, maroon like the man's eyes as he approaches steadily, shaking his head.

"Naughty, naughty boy, aren't you, Richard? First frightening that poor girl and then stealing from me." He pauses for a moment, as if allowing time for Rich to defend himself. Rich only croaks a little, overwhelmed by the pain that is pounding through him. The man shrugs lightly before taking another step towards his victim. "I abhor naughty boys."

"What?" Rich manages before being pulled to his feet. Blood pours from the wound, not much more than a three inch gash, really. He manages to fix his eyes on his assailants and fear swells rapidly in him. "What are you going to do to me?" he manages further, sucking in a deep, painful breath.

"Punish you."

"Why?!"

A grin from that face, small white teeth in the half light from the flashlight and moon. A flash of something in the eyes.

"Oh, just for a little fun on Halloween." He holds Rich fast, who tries to escape, wriggling in the iron grip. "You know," the man continued conversationally, ignoring the blood that was sprinkling across his pant legs from Rich's struggles. "Halloween is the night when the line between the living and the dead is at its thinnest, if you believe that. Shall we find out if that's true, Richard? Hmmmm?"

Rich shook his head violently, mouth open and working but no voice coming forth. It lasted but a moment, as that blade flashed out again and into his belly once more, increasing the length and depth of the previous cut. He screams as the knife renders his flesh, and is gathering breath to scream again as the knife drives into his heart. His heart tries to beat once, twice as the blade rests in it. His body spasms once, then goes limp, his last breath escaping his lungs in a slow rush. His now lifeless eyes stare at the man, the mouth still hanging open for that un-issued scream. With the ease of tossing aside a rag doll, Rich's body is tossed out into the lake, landing a few feet from shore in the shallows. Wavelets ripple over his body, washing the drift of blood ashore and tainting the sand and pebble shore a diluted red. The man washes the blade in the water, carefully drying it with a handkerchief taken from his pocket. It is tucked back into the pocket, along with the sheathed knife and he turns from the lake. He crosses the field, listening to the complete silence as the grass brushes against his legs. He reaches the young man's car, and opens the door which was left carelessly unlocked. The vehicle is old and unkempt, reflective of the teenager, and certainly will never compare with his Bentley, but it is transportation. He starts the car, only to be assaulted by the stereo blasting heavy metal. He frowns, reaches for the dial, and turns the knob slowly until he finds something more palatable. The car eases out of the gravel and onto the blacktop, lights coming on and easily gaining speed. The driver nods his head to Scarlatti as he speeds away from the body and into the early morning of All Hallows.

*****

There is knock on the cubicle wall and she looks up from the desk, sighing as someone peers in at her. "Yes?"

"We got a sighting."

Her attention is full on the visitor now. "Where?" 

"Small town up in New York. A sighting, and then there was a murder last night."

"Murder?"

"Teenager in a graveyard of an old church they say is haunted. Was found floating in the lake near it with his abdomen sliced open and stabbed in the heart. Do you think..."

She nods, dipping her head to rest it in her palms for a moment. Her visitor asked the question she was asking herself.

"Why would he kill a teenage boy in a graveyard on Halloween?"

Clarice Starling looks up from her desk, raising her head from her hands and meets her visitors eyes. "He did it for fun. Dr. Lecter likes to have his fun."

*****


End file.
